


Over the Edge

by KneelingToLoki



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-03
Updated: 2018-03-07
Packaged: 2019-01-08 09:31:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12251646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KneelingToLoki/pseuds/KneelingToLoki
Summary: The hobbit who remembers the feeling of his armchair just yesterday has now found himself to be thrown in the midst of an Elven civil war all while being plagued by flashes of memories he never made. Among them all is one common aspect - a dark haired dwarf that he seemed to have cared very fondly for.





	1. Chapter 1

Bilbo watched as Thorin fell to his knees. Azog's triumph was a breath away. The sounds of battle faded, the air itself muted. Sick dread flooded his veins, poisoning every inch of him. The hobbit's trembling legs, scarcely able to hold him at all, forced his body forward. His ribs creaked as desperate gasps of air were dragged into his lungs. Bruises and tears in his skin seared, begging for the movement to stop. A scream of pain escaped him, his whole body shaking with the effort of sound. Step after step was a blunder through time slowed by agony and fear. Everything was going to end because he was just a hobbit - too small, too weak, not enough to change the outcome of Azog's destined blade. He was a hobbit who was fit for an armchair and fretting over doilies, not for saving the lives of those he loved. But still he ran. Still he attracted the white orc's gaze from his prey. Still he slid Sting through thick orc flesh. 

He felt the pop as much as he heard it. The Elvish steel had pierced lung. Any cry from Azog came out straggled, gurgling instead of screeching. Blood was pooling in his tissue, filling spaces were air should be. He began to drown as Bilbo held fast to the hilt of Sting. Azog fell. Bilbo pulled at his sword, it ground against bone, refusing to budge. The world began falling around him. Wind soared in his ears. Bilbo heard his name shouted, a small din against the angry roar of rushing water. He tore his attention upward. There was Thorin. Anguish written across his face, mouth agape in horror. The dwarf was atop a waterfall, sky filled with great flying birds behind him. He was growing smaller by the second. Bilbo blinked, smiled. A final thought drifted through his mind before the ice water froze his breath and the rocks stole his consciousness.

_The eagles are coming._

* * *

The drum of rushing water has turned into the quiet bubbling of a gently flowing stream. Everything is numb. Bilbo wants to open his eyes, but there's something important. In the darkness he can see something towering. White scarred skin marked with steel. There is terror in this image, but not for himself. He's afraid of losing someone. He sees that image too. Small, quickly fading. Long dark hair and birds. Then it's gone. 

Pain and shivering cold. The numbness has fled and much worse has replaced it. The hobbit moans. It's too much. Too much pain. His head will surely explode with his next thought. Too much, too much. 

There is whispering. Fast, urgent. Bilbo has the sense that he needs to listen, pay attention. But it's too quick. The short sentences are full of vowels, where have the consonants gone? It doesn't matter because there is pain to think about. How did he survive this? Has he? There are hands on him. Pat, pat, pat, grab. _Please stop, it hurts._ Pat, pat, pat- _precious_. Bilbo groaned. He attempted to move, stop the hands. His body only moved a fraction, but it was enough. There was a shout. Or it sounded like a shout compared to the whispering. Maybe it was only a normally spoken word. Now there was more grabbing, much more grabbing. Whole limbs lifted, pain flared across everything. There was a dripping noise. _Is that my blood?_ The dripping became a constant flow. _I am certain to die._

True consciousness began to filter through the hobbit's mind. Fog was clearing, certainty was certain again. A solid breath after gasping for so long. Bilbo wanted to smile. _Ah, there you are world._ At this thought, the absurdity began, and he came to wish that the world had just stayed away for a while longer.

When his eyes opened, he immediately noticed a few things. There were trees. Lots of trees. Enough to be a forest, really. The Old Forest was the name that came to him, but it didn't fit. These trees were different, strange in some way. This was something to be pondered later as there was something much more pressing at hand. That would be the pain. Yes, remarkable pain all over. What in all the Shire could have caused such pain? Had he taken a fall? Ah, that seemed right. A fall. From where? Something to do with water. Ice. His head began to ache, a stretching hurt just beneath his skull, threatening to take him away. _That's enough of that._ Bilbo turned his attention to anything other than remembering. It was dusk, he had slept through the day, or had it been longer? He felt as though quite a bit more than a day had been lost to him. 

He was lying just above the ground, in something like a hammock, but sturdier. Glancing beneath the thin blanket that covered him, he saw that he had been tended to. Large and small bandages littered his body. The most concerning of them all was his left leg. Some sort of molding had been placed around it from his knee down. He attempted to wiggle his toes that were peeking out of the cast. An intense shard of pain streaked up his leg at the small movement, forcing a gasp from Bilbo. _That’s no good._ Ignoring this perplexing development, his eyes roved over the rest of him. He wore white shorts that were not his own. Scrapes apparently not worth dressing were scattered in between the bandages and a rather dark bruise bloomed over the right side of his ribcage. He tested his other limbs. Everything worked except for a tightness in his left shoulder. _A rather large fall, then._

He was alone, there were no whispers that he couldn’t understand. _Where is Gaffer?_ Surely his friend would be nearby with his injuries as they are. His heart swelled at the thought of his gardener. There was such _longing._ How he missed his good friend in this moment. That Gamgee would be there. He would be worrying Bilbo’s bandages and ranting about how the petunias wouldn’t suffer in Bilbo’s absence, not one bit! Bilbo hiccuped at the thought of how much he needed those encouraging words now. 

The hobbit tried to lean up to look around, but his bruised ribs raged in defiance. He quickly surrendered and took fast short breaths to ride the sudden wave of pain. How could he have ended up in such a state? The last major injury he could remember of anyone was a Took being kicked by his own pony. Broke bones in his shoulder. It was talked about for months. He could only imagine how fast his name was flying across the hills now. “That fool fell from such a height!” was probably being whispered all the way to Bree. 

Bilbo groaned again, though not entirely from pain at this point. As though this was the sound of summoning, someone came near him. A tall someone, very tall, very not hobbit. Bilbo watched in wonder as an _elf_ walked towards him. His presence was full of seriousness. Even though something near a scowl was on his face, there was no mistaking his pure beauty. Bilbo hardly breathed. Dark hair draped over the stranger’s shoulders, tucked behind long pointed ears. His eyes were as dark as his hair, though bright in thought. 

“ _Echuio_.” 

_I know what he said._ The elf spoke with a harsh accent, but Bilbo knew the meaning. Confusion fuzzed over his mind. _How can I know what he is saying?_

Bilbo opened his mouth to respond, but nothing came forth. His throat too dry to muster words. Instead he nodded, _yes, I am awake._

Surprise registered on the medic’s face, and Bilbo understood it. He wasn’t expecting himself to know the meaning of the word either. 

“ _Pedig edhellen?”_

Bilbo winced when he tried to speak again. This time the elf wizened to his pain and brought a flask of water to the hobbit’s lips. Bilbo’s eyes closed so that he might savor the taste of it. It was beyond anything he had ever drunk before. He could feel every inch of his body being revitalized by it. Simple water, he knew, but it was pure. Parched lips and tongue were now free. His throat opened, and he could breathe easier. Wherever he goes from here, he will certainly be taking a pouch of this liquor with him. 

Once the container was drained, Bilbo was finally able to reply, “ _Pîn_.” to convey that he knew very little Elvish. As far as he knew, anyway. 

“Would you prefer Westron?”

“Yes, please.”

The elf eyed him warily before he began replacing the hobbit’s bandages. Watching him, Bilbo’s stomach sank. His wounds were serious. A large bandage that had been bound over his right thigh came off with layers soaked in dried blood and herbs. The gash was from his inner knee crossing over the front, reaching nearly to his hip. Dizziness set in, a low buzzing in his ears. 

“What did that?” he gasped, the words sounding far. 

The medic glanced up to meet the hobbit’s eyes and said matter-of-factly, “It looks like a sword found its mark.”

A sword. Swords, maces, axes, arrows were all around him, clashing against one another. The cries of feral beasts. The slicing of metal on his skin, searing pain and blood splashing to the ground. _This isn’t real._ Darkness narrowed his vision, humming blocked his hearing. _It’s only a nightmare._ Something was said, but it was lost. The hobbit had passed out.

* * *

_There was merry singing and laughter. Boisterous voices were full of joy, but Bilbo felt panic and annoyance._ Get out, get out, get out! Uninvited, the lot of you! _Why were they here in his home? Tossing his plates, eating his food. Thieves, disturbers of the peace! There was a loud drumming sound followed by instant silence in his kitchen. Bilbo stormed off to his door, enjoying this moment of quiet despite the foreboding atmosphere. When he opened the door, sharp blue eyes met his and relief flooded him._ Ah, there you are. I’ve been waiting for you.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will be posting updates to this story on about a weekly basis, and I'll make all announcements on my tumblr page:  
> kneeling-to-loki.tumblr.com  
> Please feel free to leave kudos and comments! They are truly the lifeblood of an author <3


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the comments and kudos! And even the follows on Tumblr! I hope you continue to enjoy this fic. <3

Bilbo woke and felt the sensation of happiness fall from him like a shed skin. It crumbled, dusted off in the wind. The now familiar pains set in again, both legs announced sharp agony, his ribs dull and constant, shoulder mildly protesting, head pounding. _All here,_ the hobbit thought bleakly. He spied a glass of water set atop a small table next to him. The table looked both ornate and rough, as though the artistry were there, but maybe the tools not quite fine enough. It was still beautiful, and Bilbo could not imagine such a thing finding its way all the way to the Shire. Neither could he fathom the same for his elf friend. He’s definitely decided that he is not in Hobbiton any longer. How he came to be in the realm of Elves and finely crafted tables, he hadn’t the slightest inkling. He hoped his healer would come back soon to answer such riddles. 

In the meantime, Bilbo moved in small amounts so as to cause the least amount of pain possible. He was able to free his right arm, but reaching out seemed impossible given the state of his ribs. The hobbit huffed at his situation. With a little wriggling and whining, he managed to reach the water. He downed it, not taking the time to enjoy it this time, even though it was just as delicious as before. 

Sated, he took in his accommodations. He had been moved. He could still smell the woods, though it looked as though he were underground. His walls were earth, but they were clean and decorated with signs of life. It was a mesh of two worlds, caves and trees. It felt familiar, in a distant sort of way. Something glimpsed in a dream. There was a small window in the wooden door to the outside world. The forest stood beyond it. Green, beautiful, but strange. Bilbo felt transfixed by it, lured to it. He glanced disdainfully to his legs. One broken, one marred. How was he to garden anytime soon? Harvest season was coming up, and his potatoes would be coming in for the first time. The longing he had felt earlier came rushing back as though it had been ages since he felt the leaves of his plants between his fingers.

That’s it. He needed to get home to Bag End sooner rather than later and leave this baffling forest behind. He must thank the elf for his help, of course, invite him to tea. The hobbit smiled at the thought of an elf coming round Bag End. Such _scandal_. The Sackville-Bagginses would just be beside themselves. A terrible fall and then an elf dropping by! How unfit Bilbo was to be in Bag End. 

He huffed to himself good-naturedly. The imagined image of their faces alone spurred him to a half-sitting position. His ribs ached, but they didn’t steal his breath as badly as before. That was good. His legs, however, were a problem all of themselves. The cast on his left was different. It wasn’t as lumpy as the one before, in fact, it was perfectly smooth. When Bilbo leaned forward some more, he found that the thing was hard as a rock. His brows furrowed as he wondered how in the world it would ever come off. Maybe that elf would need to come by indeed, if only to remove this contraption. He didn’t fancy having to take a hatchet to it. His right leg had a tight, clean bandage about it. Memory of the gore that rested beneath it floated into the hobbit’s mind, making him shudder. How could he have ever been on the opposite end of someone’s sword? Had a hobbit child come across one and accidentally swung it into Bilbo’s leg? He could imagine that of a Brandybuck, but it didn’t seem right. It was deep, purposeful. 

Bilbo shook it from his thoughts. It didn’t look like he was going anywhere soon. His heart dampened, not wanting to resign to being stuck in this unknown place. What choice was there? He needed to heal, at least until his right leg was able to hold all his weight. Or maybe he had enough coin to hire a pony and cart. Surely he couldn’t be too far from home. 

The hobbit spotted some clothes that looked like his draped across a chair. Funny how a yard of distance became quite the expanse when in a situation such as Bilbo’s. Using his current position to his advantage, Bilbo dragged his body upwards with only some discomfort from his legs. The cast made his lower half heavier, giving him more leverage to lean a seemingly dangerous angle. He began to breathe heavier from the effort of keeping himself horizontal over the edge of his bed. His muscles felt strong, but tired. Suddenly his body seemed altogether not his own. Strength was not associated with his usually plump figure. But it was there, beneath the fatigue. This perturbed him as he reached out his hand. His hand, oh, it was so dark. He looked like a Harfoot instead of a Baggins having skin so tanned. When had everything about himself changed?

His fingertips were inches from the sleeve of his shirt on the chair when his leg shifted. Sick pain raced up the nerves of his leg, causing the hobbit to shout in surprise and agony. His top half fell to the floor, his hand only just catching him from a bloodied nose. A second hadn’t passed before the same elf from before stormed through the doorway. “ _Man cerig!_ ”

Bilbo flinched at the tone. He tried to wrestle himself back upright so as to preserve his dignity. He would much rather speak to the elf’s face instead of his shoes. The medic obliged by picking Bilbo up by his armpits and moving him back in place without triggering any pains at all. 

Patting his blanket down, dignity shattered, the hobbit responded, “I was trying to get my things.”

The elf glanced to the chair and sighed. “I have not treated you just to see you reinjure yourself attempting to get trinkets.”

Bilbo bristled. “Then perhaps you should tell me why you have treated me at all.” 

“Would you have rather been left to freeze in the icy waters of the river, or perhaps simply bleeding out was what you preferred?”

Had he really been so close to death? Did he owe this elf his life? Bilbo bowed his head before replying, “I am sorry. I hadn’t meant it in that way. My question is why am I here at all? In fact, where is ‘here’?” 

The medic paused, eyes shifting to Bilbo’s, seeming to weigh something. “What do you remember?”

This was not a question the hobbit was expecting. “Now it is your meaning that is uncertain. What matter is it what I had for second breakfast? I simply wish to know my whereabouts, and I do not understand why that should entail inquiry on my memory.” He was perhaps being touchy with this person who had obviously done everything in his power to help Bilbo to this point. But there was something irritating about all of this. Things weren’t clicking, and that made him uneasy. There were rarely ever mysteries in his life.

The elf pointed to Bilbo’s legs, never taking his gaze from Bilbo. “Do you know how this happened to you?”

Something akin to dread was forming in his gut. He shook his head a fraction of an inch. Every muscle of his body wanted to get out of this conversation. He didn’t want to hear it. He didn’t want to know. 

Pity entered the medic’s eyes. He quickly looked away, not wanting the hobbit to see and panic, but it was in vain. His voice became softer, “What is your name, Halfling?”

“Bilbo Baggins of Bag End,” he replied confidently, almost smiling at being able to answer.

“And where is Bag End?”

“In the Shire,” he said, telling himself that of course a foreigner wouldn’t know the names of all the neighborhoods just yet. 

The elf nodded. “And where is the Shire?”

Bilbo’s smile faltered. “It’s just west of Bree.” He’s never been farther than Bree. Surely they weren’t too distant from it, no matter what had happened. But the look on the elf’s face was not one of recognition. He had remained silent, and that was enough. 

Throat tightening, worry truly beginning to set in, Bilbo opened his mouth to ask what needed to be asked, but nothing came forth. The hobbit coughed, his eyes avoiding the source of pity. He licked his lips, heart pounding as he uttered, “Where am I?”

The air was thick in the silence that followed. The elf was waiting. Bilbo stared heartedly at the empty water glass on the table. It was just a plain glass, there were no ornamental scrawls to ponder the meaning of. The hobbit cursed its plainness. His fingers curled into his blanket, his shoulders pulled backwards, anything to steel himself. At last, he tore his gaze to meet his care-giver’s. The elf was stone still, eyes intense, but tender. 

“Mr. Bilbo, you are in the Mountains of Mirkwood. I do not know the names Bree nor Shire, so I believe that you are quite far from home. You were found in the Enchanted River. Its effects are causing your forgetfulness. How long it will last, I cannot tell you. There is no guess as to how long you were adrift. I cannot guarantee that you will ever regain your memory.” 

“I’ve always wanted to see mountains,” Bilbo replied in a small voice. His world narrowed to this small room. None of this could be real. A dream, it must be a dream. “Elves too.” He tried to smile, but it became a grimace. He looked down to his hands fisted in the foreign blanket. _Elvish-made._

Alright, he is far from home. _Very_ far from home. It only means a journey, an adventure of sorts, to get back. He could do that. He must. Maybe this elf would assist him. An image of himself traipsing through mountains with a walking cane and pack on his back alongside a gorgeous elf forced a bark of laughter from him, startling the medic. But now that it was started, he couldn’t stop laughing. “Is this a joke?” he asked between fits, “It must be a joke. This is absurd!”

A look of sympathy was all he received in answer, ceasing his mirth. His mind fought the notion of it all. Elves, sword wounds, enchanted rivers, _mountains_? He folded his arms across his chest. “And how do you suppose I got here?”

The elf shrugged slightly. “I do not dare to guess your motivations, but it is no great leap of logic to conclude that you were in the battle at the Lonely Mountain.”

There was that word again. One day he had been surrounded by hills no taller than the tallest tree and the next there are mountains around every corner. Then there was talk of a battle in one. The sounds that came to him when he had first seen his wound replayed in his mind. Bilbo shook his head. None of this was making any sense. “You’re wrong. I would never be in a battle. Those belong in tales told around the fire, no place for a hobbit. I fell, I must’ve just fallen.”

“Yes, I believe you did fall, but this,” here he pointed to the leg wrapped in a bandage, “is without question a wound from a blade. Whether you were in the fighting or not, you were there.”

Bilbo glared at his leg as though it was all its fault that this has happened. _I could be in the Shire if only you hadn’t gotten in a skirmish with a sword!_ “Fine,” the hobbit grumbled, “I was in some battle. Got lost, mayhaps, turned around, and someone attacked me. I fell, and now I’m here. What’s important is how I get back to the Shire.”

Once it was said, Bilbo suddenly felt vulnerable. The words had rushed from him. He wanted to grab them up, return them to his head. He wasn’t yet prepared for the answer that he knew was inevitable. His flightiness from before had come back full swing. _Don’t say anything, don’t say it._

The elf shifted uncomfortably. “With your current wounds, it will be some time before you are able to take on such a journey. Even when you are able to walk without aid, it would be an impossible task on your own.”

Bilbo breathed deeply and nodded. He knew that. He did. Nothing new. No reason to panic. No reason to fall apart in front of this stranger. “Could I-” Bilbo stopped, cleared his throat, “Could I have something to eat please?”

The elf eyed him once more, pity seeping from him as he responded, “Yes, of course.”

With that, the elf left and Bilbo was alone. Alone, lost, hurt, and confused. His eyes burned, chest constricted, throat thickened. He still hadn’t gotten his clothes. When he gasped an inhale to laugh, the tears came.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will be posting updates to this story on about a weekly basis, and I'll make all announcements on my tumblr page:  
> kneeling-to-loki.tumblr.com  
> Please feel free to continue to leave kudos and comments! They are truly the lifeblood of an author <3


	3. Chapter 3

Fed and calmed down, Bilbo was given his things to peruse. The elf told him that his sword had been taken to the armory, but it would be promptly returned to him upon request. The hobbit was vaguely aware that the notion of a sword belonging to him was yet another peculiarity, it’s just that his heart couldn’t handle any more of those. Instead of questioning it, he only nodded and gave thanks. 

Upon receipt of his items, found that he didn’t own much these days. Of interest were his favorite vest (three buttons missing), an acorn, a few gold coins, and a light chainmail shirt that was far too large for him, but too small for an elf. He ran the links through his fingers, feeling the cool metal slowly warm. It was stunning. How in the world could he have ever become the owner of such a thing? 

The last item he found in his pockets was a gold ring. A wave of relief washed over him when he saw it. _Good,_ he thought, _it’s still here._ Though he wasn’t sure why he was so pleased to see the ring, his thumb roved over the surface. He became transfixed. It was different than the chainmail shirt. With it, he felt almost reverential, but with the ring he felt possessive. Shame and anger bubbled up in him. How dare he let this out of his sight. What if that elf had found it? Took it for himself? No, no, that could not, absolutely cannot happen. It came to Bilbo, it was his. 

The blurred image of a pitch black cave seeped into his mind. Echoes of a wailed “ _Thief!”_ reverberated off rock and water. Bilbo gripped the ring harder. _“What has it got in its pockets?”_

There was another memory nearby this one. Lighter, surprising, pleasant. The hobbit tried to reach out for the tendrils of it. A smile came into view, a wonderful smile that had astounded Bilbo. The thought of it made the tension in his body begin to fade. He closed his eyes and focused. There were people around, not as tall as men or elves, but sturdier than both. _Dwarves_ , Bilbo realized with a start. He had met dwarves! And one gazed at him intently, smile on his face as he spoke meaningful words. The memory was blurring, peeling away from clarity. He only wanted to hear, but it seemed to be a demand of great measure. Still he concentrated. Dark hair came into focus, familiar, so familiar he could remember its smell. How desperately he wanted to feel it between his fingertips again. 

“So wrong.” It clicked. That was said, that was definitely said before. 

He was embraced. Warmth and strength wrapped around him. He could feel the metal and leather of the dwarf’s garments, the tickling of his hair. He smelled the scent of smoke and sweat, iron and earth.

“I have never been so wrong in all my life.”

Bilbo smiled, the first sliver of happiness curling inside him. This dwarf was important, so important. He held tightly to the memory of the embrace, of that smile and of those words. He became thankful that of whatever had passed in the time he spent outside the Shire, he was glad that this memory was one that surfaced. However, every time he tried to remember the dwarf’s face, he fell short of any detail. Black hair and his smile was all he had, but it was enough to know that he was striking. 

Later that evening when the medic came to change his bandages, Bilbo knew that he could not mention this part of his memory coming back. He remembered the lack of trust between the elves and dwarves, and if Bilbo had been a party to the dwarves, then he might have found himself in a bit of trouble. 

* * *

 

Days passed. Books had been brought to him to ease the boredom. He requested stories in both Westron and Sindarin. Few words of the language were known to him, but he knew just enough to be able to string some sentences together. He kept notes to ask his medic the meanings of some he could not guess. Whether or not the elf thought it wise Bilbo should be learning their language, he did not let on. 

One day, over a week into his stay, Bilbo asked the medic about the battle. If it had been between the elves and the dwarves, then he may very well be in the predicament he had worried over earlier. But instead, the elf informed him that multiple armies had been involved. Orcs, goblins, men, elves, dwarves, bats and even a Beorning had fought in this battle. The hobbit’s eyes widened at this information. 

“It sounds atrocious.”

The elf kept his eyes and hands busy with Bilbo’s books. “It was.”

“And how did everyone fair? The elves? The dwarves?” he tried to ask casually, hoping that he hadn’t shown too much of his interest. 

“Each side took terrible casualties. The weak alliance of elves, dwarves and men withheld though.”

“That’s good then!” Bilbo replied, happy to note that he may be safe after all. When the elf made no motion to share in the hobbit’s glee, Bilbo asked, “Or is it not?”

“Matters are complicated, Halfling. Because a battle is won does not mean everyone is singing victory songs.” 

The hobbit nodded hesitantly. Perhaps he had been too rash to believe he could be safe here. 

The elf stood, glancing over Bilbo’s bandages. A number of them had been removed, scars revealed in their place. His left leg remained in its cast and the bandage over his right thigh still needed to be reapplied daily, but there had been progress. The large bruise over his ribs had faded to yellow, and he no longer felt pangs with his inhales. “Perhaps when you have healed some more, there will be tales to tell.”

_No need to be ominous,_ Bilbo thought as the elf took his leave.

 

* * *

 

_They had found shelter. At long last, Bilbo didn’t jump at every sound he heard. There were great trees, beautiful gardens, kind animals. Everything was in a grand scale, making the hobbit appear even smaller, but he wasn’t the only one. The dwarves guffawed at the size of the chairs when they had to hoist themselves into them. It was wonderful to have their laughs resounding in the air again._

_When dinner plates were emptied and tankards drained, Bilbo snuck off to see the gardens. The sun was nearly set, but there was light still to see the greens of leaves and reds of tomatoes. His heart was full at the sight of such life. There was no darkness here, at least within the walls. He idly watched a rabbit hop over by an immense oak tree. It was as he was following the rabbit that he felt an acorn beneath his bare toes. Bilbo picked it up and placed it in his pocket._ A souvenir of this kind place, _he thought as the foreboding of the outside world lingered in his mind. It was because of where his thoughts were that he jumped when a hand fell upon his shoulder._

_“I hadn’t meant to startle you, Master Baggins,” the dwarf with dark hair said. He appeared light-hearted, a way Bilbo had never seen him. The leader’s burden was momentarily lifted._

_“That’s what happens when you lay hands on someone who is unsuspecting!” Bilbo tried to seem offended, but the dwarf saw past it with ease._

_“What are you doing out here?”_

_“Missing me, are you?” Bilbo replied cheekily, “Enjoying the grounds. I fear it will be some time till we come across a place so lovely again.”_

_The dwarf nodded, glancing over the area Bilbo mentioned, but his gaze was distant, unseeing. “You are brave,” he said suddenly. “Braver than I could have ever imagined from your kind.”_

_“Yes, you’ve said this before,” Bilbo replied warily._

_Eyes fixing back on the hobbit, he stood remarkably still as he asked, “Do you regret signing that contract?”_

_“What? No-“_

_“It will only become more dangerous from here. Gandalf, Beorn and I have been in council. I am giving you this chance, Master Baggins. Beorn has agreed to accompany you back to your Shire.”_

_Bilbo’s blood boiled. “Now you wait one minute! Have I given you the notion that I wish to leave this journey? How could you have gotten so confused?”_

_The dwarf looked away towards the oak. “I am not confused.”_

_“Then why do you suggest that I part from the Company? As far as I can tell, I have acted only willingly, but you act as though I’ve been an unreluctant guest.”_

_“I know you are not!”_

_“Then what has happened for you to ask Beorn to carry me back to the Shire?”_

_The dwarf stalled. He had taken a step back from the hobbit, lost in his befuddling thoughts. His jaw set, gaze fixed on a point elsewhere. “I do not have to explain my reasons to you,” he tried._

_“Considering this greatly involves me, I believe you do,” Bilbo retorted._

_The dwarf exhaled sharply. “I do not wish to see you harmed while you are under my direction.”_

_Rolling his eyes, Bilbo replied, “It’s a bit late for that!”_

_Shock crossed his leader’s faces. “Have you been harmed?” His eyes desperately searched the hobbit’s body for grievous wounds as though a sword had been sticking out Bilbo’s back and he just hadn’t noticed it._

_“No, but I’ve been in this danger for some time, and I agreed to carry on going through this danger until this is seen through. Contract or no contract, I will be by your side when Erebor is reclaimed. End of discussion.” Despite these last words, Bilbo’s breathing was haggard with his anger, ready to fight back anything the stubborn dwarf had to say. However, his arguing partner had a softer look to him now. He looked truly relieved, and it sent Bilbo off kilter. There was kindness in his eyes, sadness, and pride too. The hobbit couldn’t help but return it with a small smile._

_He had seen this look before. When the eagles had taken them to Carrock, the first time the dwarf had said a similar speech. He remembered the warmth he felt when he was embraced. How wonderful it was to feel the strength of his leader’s body against him. His cheeks began to burn under this gaze. Bilbo realized he wanted to be close to him again and wished the dwarf would repeat the scenario._

_The hobbit whispered his name, about to ask what the dwarf was doing. He did not get his chance for his leader had moved towards him, his rough hand placed to Bilbo’s cheek before he kissed him. Shock washed over him, shock and happiness. The hobbit quickly grabbed the dwarf’s shoulder, pulling him closer to kiss him back. All of his wanting made sense. His desire to stand by this dwarf through everything became clear._

It was this intense feeling of revelation that woke the hobbit. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will be posting updates to this story on about a weekly basis, and I'll make all announcements on my tumblr page:  
> kneeling-to-loki.tumblr.com  
> Please feel free to continue to leave kudos and comments! They are truly the lifeblood of an author <3


	4. Chapter 4

Bilbo lay staring at the rocky ceiling of his room. _I was involved with-,_ his mind reeled. He had been kissed by a dwarf, and he had kissed _back._ A scream threatened inside his chest. He hated this. He hated not knowing things that had happened in his own life. For all he knows, it could have just been a dream. But the creeping feeling in the recesses of his mind led him to believe that it hadn’t been mere fantasy. There were too many details in that place, and then there was the acorn. Remembering it, Bilbo reached over to the table to pick through his things once again. 

He had barely given the acorn a glance the first time he searched his belongings, but now that it lay in his hand, he could feel its significance. It was exactly the same as the one in his dream. His mouth twitched with frustration. His mind had conjured up every detail of that garden except for the face and name of the dwarf he kissed. Curling his fingers, Bilbo buried the acorn in a fist. He couldn’t even ask the elf if he knew about any of this. His medic had said that the elves had fought alongside the dwarves, but the way he mentioned the alliance with such malice, Bilbo knew better than to indicate any relations he had with the race. 

_Yavanna, save me,_ Bilbo thought helplessly, _I am a mouse trapped between a badger and tree hollow._

As time went on, the hobbit began to imagine that all of this was an elaborate ruse. The elf had said that they were in some sort of settlement in the mountains, but Bilbo never saw any other elves. Sometimes he would think he could hear whispers, though they could very well have been nothing short of leaves in the wind. Eventually Bilbo learned that his medic’s name was Amdiron. The hobbit was embarrassed he hadn’t asked beforehand, but the elf appeared to be understanding. Bilbo tried to learn more about where he was and what was happening with each meeting. He gleaned that the mountains were on the southern border of Mirkwood. The river he was found in ran through the woods and into the mountains, which is where scouts had found him. He was unconscious for five days, making his total stay here a total of twenty nights. Amdiron listed his various injuries, but at this point Bilbo knew them all very well. 

When Bilbo asked about the other elves, the medic remarked that they were all busy with current affairs. It was obvious he didn’t want to reveal more than that, but the hobbit had grown tired of being unaware of his surroundings.

“What do you mean ‘current affairs’?” Bilbo asked with thinly veiled annoyance. 

Amdiron’s face flickered with regret. “You are still too weak to worry over what is going on outside your quarters.”

“By Varda’s stars! Being in the dark will do me more harm with this constant speculation! By this time, I am half convinced you have created these other elves in your mind, and we are actually alone out in these mountains.”

The elf smiled. Bilbo found it wonderful to see something other than concentration and concern on the medic’s face. “We are not alone, of this I assure you. Please, calm yourself or you may rupture one of your body’s natural bandages.” Bilbo crossed his arms, trying to look pointedly calm. Amdiron huffed at the hobbit’s expression, but his mirth faded as he mulled the question at hand. 

“My people, Silvan elves,” he began, but shook his head before changing direction, “The battle you were in – the one at the Lonely Mountain – it was fought by many factions, elves included. However, my people did not desire to be in any such battle.” Bilbo nodded, urging the elf to continue. His toes danced under his sheet, so excited he was to be learning something of this new world he had been thrust into. 

“We have lived in these mountains for many generations, as far back as the First Age. There is a kingdom over Mirkwood whose king is known as Thranduil, a Sindarin elf. We never accepted him as he never accepted us. Our bloodline is closer to the Avari, the Refusers,” Amdiron’s voice became lower, anger seeping into his words, “We are filth in his eyes. Because of this, we do not benefit from his rule. There is no trade, no protection. We received no aid when the spiders came. Thranduil would have his archers fight them back far enough so that they did not enter his kingdom, but he did not care for the outer forest nor the mountains. What more can you expect from a Sindarin? They do not care for this world as we do. 

“So we fought the darkness and the creatures that came with it. Many we have lost. But when the battle at the Lonely Mountain came-“ Amdiron paused and stood up to pace as he continued, “When the battle loomed on the horizon, Thranduil came for us. He knew the scale, and he knew his army was not large enough. Archers he had plenty, but it was in warriors that he lacked. He threatened us. 

“‘When I return from the Lonely Mountain with my jewels and alliances, there will need to be a cleansing of my kingdom. For if my allies were ever to learn Avari descendants lie within my borders, it would bring great shame upon me. But should these Avari-kin prove their worth on the battlefield, my allies would know their purpose. There would be no need to wash Refuser blood from my mountains.’”

Amdiron froze in his speech and movements. “I was there,” he said slowly, “I was there when he told this to our leaders in front of the many heads of families. I wasn’t supposed to be there, but a patient had left her medicine, so I was walking toward her home when I chanced upon the meeting. If you could have seen his eyes, Halfling, you would know. You would know that he would have done it. It would have meant nothing to him to slaughter us all.”

In Bilbo’s mind, he could see ice blue eyes focusing on him. Under the intense dead gaze, chilled fear pricked his neck. “ _Why do you linger in the shadows?”_

“I can imagine,” the hobbit murmured.

The elf took that to be enough as he sat back down at the table. “We did the only thing we could do - we fought in his battle. We lost countless numbers.” His eyes were distant, no doubt seeing the terrors of war. “I tried to save as many as I could, but there were too many, Master Baggins. So many crying out for me, begging me for healing or for death. Elves I had helped bring into this world were now screaming for me to take them out of it, so great and terrible their wounds. I wonder each day if I took more lives than I saved.”

“You did what you were called to do, Amdiron,” Bilbo replied softly, “You helped your people in their time of need. I can see you are kind. I am not one of your own, but look at how much you have aided me. If you took more lives, then I believe that is what was called for. There is no evil in saving souls from their suffering.”

Quiet settled upon the room. The elf’s stare was transfixed on times past. Bilbo hoped his words could mean something to the person who had helped him so much, but he also understood that very little could ease the medic’s pain. 

Bilbo politely waited. A few moments passed before Amdiron’s gaze sharpened towards the hobbit. “But our losses were less than Thranduil’s army,” the elf continued, voice changing to one that demanded understanding, “His forces are now a mere fraction of what they once were.”

An inkling at what the medic was insinuating occurred to the hobbit. He held the elf’s scrutiny as he lowered his own voice, “You mean to take advantage of this.”

“It has been whispered and rumored for years. It was never something people took seriously until the spiders began thinning our numbers. And now after this battle, it has become something much greater than speculations over draughts of wine.” Amdiron was wary with his words, and Bilbo understood why. This was treasonous talk, the kind with grievous repercussions. 

“I would like to be your ally in this,” the hobbit said swiftly, surprised at his own courage and certainty. 

Amdiron smiled sadly. “You are in no condition to help matters. Nor should you be involved. This is not your battle.”

“I will heal soon, you said so yourself. In one week, this cast will be off my leg and in two I should be walking. This may not be my battle, but it is one I would choose to be a part of, should you have me. Hobbits are quick and light on their feet. We can go unseen should we choose to. I feel I may be able to be of use to you.” Bilbo felt certain in all of this. Normally he would never say such things, but he knew all of this was in his capabilities as much as a horse knows it can run. 

The elf eyed him seriously. “Our leader will be returning in a fortnight. She will be the one to decide your allegiance to us.” Amdiron stood and held the hobbit’s shoulder. “But for what it is worth, I am glad you wish to help. At this stage, we could use every ally, elf or no.” He smiled weakly before turning to leave Bilbo’s quarters. 


	5. Chapter 5

“You’re going to use a saw?” Bilbo asked in horror.

Amdiron raised an eyebrow curiously, “How else do you remove a cast?”

“Well I don’t know,” the hobbit responded as he tried to scoot back in the bed to put distance between himself and the vicious looking blade, “But a saw wouldn’t have been my first choice.”

A smirk played on the elf’s lips. “Shall I give you the day to try to figure out a different method then?”

Four hours, five bottles of wine, and one pair of ruined shears later, Bilbo lifted his leg triumphantly out of the cast. The moment, however, was ruined when they realized that soaking the cast in wine for hours had stained his toenails purple. Their laughter echoed off the earthen walls.

In between fits of giggles, Bilbo asked, “I don’t suppose you have any purple varnish so that I might match my other foot?”

“Oh I could ask around,” Amdiron replied.

“Would that come as part of your medical duties? Painting your patient’s toenails?”

“It isn’t standard, but when a situation calls for it-“

The day ended in more laughter as the elf ended up finding the varnish after all.

  


The next week was not as gleeful. Turns out learning to walk after a month in bed was a very difficult process. His left leg was atrophied and weak; his right thigh twitched against the new scar tissue. The healer was constantly encouraging him up until Bilbo began to get tired and tried to sit back down. Encouragement led into orders of “one more step” or “stand upright for a moment longer”, causing the hobbit to feel some resentment, even if it was for his own good.

The height difference threw Bilbo when he stood up for the first time in the elf’s presence. His head came to the man’s midriff. He found it disconcerting having to look up to hold a conversation. Though those were scarce as when the hobbit was standing, it was mostly expletives coming from his mouth. Amdiron didn’t seem to mind the curses, he had no doubt been through this process with many patients over the years.

It took three days before Bilbo could cross his room with only a cane. Five until he could cross it twice without it. On the seventh day, he had mapped the room fifty times with his footsteps. It was during this walking practice that he heard the first thing other than a whisper outside his quarters. He had desperately wanted to leave the room the moment he could stand, but didn’t out of respect of his medic’s wishes. The elf told him that he would need to escort the hobbit out, and he simply didn’t have the time. Bilbo knew he wasn’t the only patient, given the description of the battle, but he was annoyed nonetheless. He had peaked out a couple of times and found that outside his room there were only trees. Nothing much of a surprise. He wondered where all of the other patients were kept. His room was beginning to feel more like a prison cell over a medical ward, and that made his skin crawl.

Today was a different day though. Whispers had turned into shouts. They were far off, but he heard them. His heart beat frantically with the idea of something new happening in his bland, repetitive world. It had been two weeks since his in-depth conversation with Amdiron. The Silvan leader was back.

That night the medic returned to Bilbo’s quarters with his daily medication. He was finally down to chewing a few herbs in the evenings instead of with every meal. Grateful for the interruption in his day of constant pacing, Bilbo greeted Amdiron with a smile. “So I hear your leader has returned.”

The elf froze. “Hear? Who told you this? You’ve been speaking to others?”

“You did, you goat. Two weeks ago.”

“For someone with memory problems, you seem to remember things remarkably well.”

“Your conversations are the only thing keeping me sane in here. It should come as no surprise,” Bilbo replied. A moment of silence followed as the elf busied himself preparing the medicinal herbs. When it became evident that the elf wasn’t going to continue, the hobbit prompted, “Well?”

“Hm?”

“You said that she would determine my alliance. I assume that means that there will be a meeting. Don’t get me wrong, seeing your face is a delight, but I’ve only seen yours for six weeks now so some variety would be nice.” Bilbo tried to keep his tone light, but his annoyance still bled through. He was sick of this place and was healthy enough to be doing something other than counting paces.

“Yes, you will meet her. But she is busy, this is the first time she has returned since the battle. I did not want to bother her just yet.” Amdiron barely met Bilbo’s eyes as he handed him the mixture, giving the hobbit a bad feeling.

“So she doesn’t know I’m here.”

“No, not yet. If you would excuse me, I must carry on to my other patients,” he muttered quickly as he turned to leave.

“Does anyone know I’m here?” Bilbo asked, the old feeling of dread filling his gut again. He couldn’t see the elf’s face, but saw his shoulders tense. This was answer enough, but the hobbit wouldn’t let it go. “Is that why I never see others? You’ve secreted me off somewhere.”

Amdiron turned so that Bilbo could see his profile. His face showed he was working on what he should say, but now the hobbit wanted answers and patience isn’t something he had in droves anymore. “What about the scouts who found me?”

“That was me,” he responded in a small voice. “I found you on the river bed and brought you here.”

Bilbo’s stomach dropped. “Are you going to tell your leader about me?” If not, he knew that he would be leaving the second the morning dawned. He may not know where in Middle Earth he may be, but he knew there was a river somewhere nearby. Rivers led to civilization at some point, so he at least had a direction to walk. He was likely to die within a week, but it was better than being the unwitting prisoner of an elf.

“Yes,” Amdiron said curtly, finally moving his eyes to look at the hobbit, “I will tell her. I am just waiting for an opportune moment.”

“Why didn’t you tell anyone else about me?”

The elf sighed, the weight of something bearing down on him greatly. “I cannot explain this in a way that you can understand yet. Please, give me time to tell her, and she will clear things for you.”

“And how can I believe you?”

Amdiron looked truly sad when he met the hobbit’s gaze once again. “I can only hope that you will.”

After watching the elf leave, Bilbo sat heavily down upon his bed. Anger subsiding, he chewed his medicinal herbs and barely winced at its bitterness.


End file.
